I pull my tattered cloak tighter against the bitter cold as I crouch in the dense underbrush, my breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. I’ve been running for hours—my legs screaming in protest—but stopping isn’t an option. I steal a glance over my shoulder, eyes darting between the darkened trees. Somewhere in the distance, the village alarm bell still tolls—a reminder that they know what I’ve become.

  I bite my lip, pressing a hand against my side where pain from a brutal collision with a tree still lingers. Velmora never prepared me for a fight like this; I’m so untrained. Yet, I can’t let myself wallow in pain. Not when they’re closing in on me.

  I force my thoughts away from the agony and focus on survival. Every rustle, every crunch of leaves beneath the knights’ heavy steps makes my heart pound harder. I flip open the worn pages of my grimoire with trembling fingers, desperately seeking a spell to help me hide or gain speed. But fear clouds my mind—everything feels like a blur.

  Then, footsteps crunch behind me. I freeze, pressing my back against a tree as my pulse thunders in my ears. The glow of lanterns dances among the trees. I hold my breath, summoning all my courage. I focus my mana, letting it merge with the forest’s own darkness, its silence. A faint shimmer envelops me as I blend into the shadows—a crude camouflage, but enough for now.

  I stay still, every muscle tense, as one knight stops, scanning the trees. His lantern’s glow brushes against my cloak—but the spell holds. After what feels like an eternity, his search moves on. When their voices fade, I exhale shakily, knowing this narrow escape isn’t enough. I have to keep moving.

  ---

  I stand outside the tavern in the village, arms crossed, watching the panic unfold as whispers snake their way through the crowd. Villagers point toward the forest where chaos reigns, and knights scramble to form a search party. When Captain Sir Edric Vaughn strides up in full armor, his presence is enough to command every eye.

  “Report,” he barks.

  One of the knights, breath still ragged from the chase, answers, “It was a girl, sir. Young—dark hair, violet eyes. She used Arkanila magic.”

  Vaughn’s face darkens instantly. “And you let her escape?” The knight stiffens and remains silent.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  I watch the exchange, my gaze hard and cold, a feeling of grim determination settling over me. A witch in our midst? If the rumors are true, then this isn’t just another fugitive—this is a threat, and it’s personal. My grip tightens around the hilt of my Runetha-infused longsword. Orders are orders, and tonight, the kingdom wants witches exterminated.

  “Fan out. Search the forest,” Vaughn commands the knights. “The king wants all witches exterminated.”

  I don’t hesitate. With every step toward the darkened trees, I feel the weight of duty—and something unspoken—pushing me forward. There’s a fierce resolve in my heart tonight, even as I wonder if I’m about to face something far more complicated than I expected.

  Orders are Orders

  And they are absolute

  ---

  Elya forced herself forward through the forest, exhaustion clawing at her every step. Her mind raced with questions: Where could she possibly go? With no home, no allies, she was alone against a relentless search party of magic knights. As she clutched her grimoire, every step was a battle against despair and pain.

  Suddenly, a twig snapped behind her. She turned just in time to see a knight charging with his drawn sword. The knight’s blade whistled past where she’d been standing moments before. “You have nowhere to run, witch,” he snarled.

  Determination flared in Elya’s eyes. She would not be captured. Summoning a forceful gust of wind, she hurled the knight back. He crashed against a tree with a pained grunt. But before she could catch her breath, another knight charged from the side. With trembling hands, Elya threw up a barrier of swirling energy to block the attack, but her control wavered. The knight’s sword crashed through the barrier, and she barely managed to roll away as the blade slashed across her arm. Pain exploded through her, and she thought desperately, *I can’t keep this up.*

  Before she could decide on her next move, a third figure emerged from the darkness. “Enough,” a commanding voice cut through the chaos.

  Ronan Valeheart stepped forward, his blue eyes unyielding as he locked onto her. For a moment, time seemed to still as the knight’s eyes met hers—each gauging the other with a mixture of caution and something deeper, almost human. Then, with swift precision, Ronan lunged. His Runetha-infused sword glowed with elemental power, and the impact sent Elya sprawling to the ground. Her vision blurred, and her body ached with every hit of pain.

  Ronan hovered over her, sword raised. “Surrender. There’s nowhere left to run.”

  Gritting her teeth and clutching her bleeding arm, Elya refused. She wouldn’t surrender—she couldn’t. Summoning the last of her mana, she unleashed it in a blinding burst of energy. The force of the explosion threw Ronan back just enough for her to scramble to her feet and vanish into the dark embrace of the trees.

  For a moment, Ronan hesitated, watching her retreat. A conflicted thought crossed his mind: *She fought like someone who was scared, not like the monster we’re told she is. Like... a person.* Yet, duty and conviction overpowered any fleeting doubt. “She’s a witch,” he murmured to himself, pushing the thought aside, and continued his pursuit.

  ---

  Hours later, as the knights regrouped without having captured their target, Captain Vaughn’s scowl deepened. “She won’t get far,” he declared. I stood at the forest’s edge, the lingering trace of her magic still palpable in the cool air. I couldn’t shake the image of her desperate eyes or the raw, human fear that had flickered across her face. Even so, I resolved that when she inevitably slipped up—if she ever did—I would be the one to bring her down.

  ---

  I eventually collapsed near an abandoned hunting cabin, my body trembling with exhaustion and the rush of adrenaline slowly ebbing away. Clenching my fists, I vowed over and over to myself: I won’t let them capture me.

  I will survive—and I will find a way to fight back. Every painful breath, every drop of blood was a promise that I would not be broken.

  [End of Chapter 3]